


The Road to ComicCon

by jakia



Category: Glee
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:31:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jakia/pseuds/jakia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Artie kidnap Blaine and force him to grow his hair out so he can cosplay Jon Snow and be a part of their Game of Thrones cosplay at the San Diego ComicCon.  Sam is going as Jamie Lannister but without the whole making out with his sister part.  Artie is going as Not Bran Stark you ableist assholes.  Blaine wants to know when he signed up for this and also how can he get out of i (but hey, at least Jon Snow i pretty!) Cooper gets involved.  There are Shenanigans.  AU after Dynamic Duets.  Assumes Kurt never called Blaine during Thanksgiving.</p>
<p>Warnings: ableism and gender stuff.  Spoilers for Game of Thrones season one, but not really.  You should be able to read this even if you aren' familiar with Game of Thrones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road to ComicCon

**Author's Note:**

> **Title** : The Road to ComicCon  
>  **Author** : Jakia / luckyjak  
>  **Word Count** :5924  
>  **Friendships** : Blaine + Artie + Sam + a bit of Cooper, a little past Kurt/Blaine
> 
> **A/N:** A day late, I know.  Real life intervened.  Hope you still like it regardless?

**The Road to ComicCon**

**Part One: The Players and Their Parts**

Blaine has a hangover, a broken heart, and a mouth full of biscotti when Sam and Artie accost him at the Lima Bean bright and early on a Saturday morning.

“We need to talk.” Sam says, and Blaine wants to shoot whoever invented sunlight.

“We do?” Blaine swallows, wishing his coffee order was already here. He just thinks this conversation would go by a lot more smoothly with a skinny soy latte in hand.

“We really do.” Artie finishes solemnly. “It’s about your hair.”

Instinctively, Blaine’s hands fly to his head, trying to smooth down any sort of wayward curly strands the gel might’ve missed (there aren’t any.) “What about my hair?” He whines, high-pitched and nervous as he repeatedly flattens his hair with his hands.

“Well, at Brittany’s party last night, you got kinda drunk.” Sam offers with a small smile as the barista brings Blaine’s latte to the table.

“Kurt and I broke up. I’m _heartbroken._ I’m allowed to get kind of drunk if I’m heartbroken.”

“Yeah, but your hair was kind of wild. It was all curly and stuff. Like it was at Prom last year.”

Blaine’s face turns bright red as he tries to swallow his latte in a single gulp. Bad idea--it’s still rather hot. He swallows the scalding liquid anyway. “I’m—I’m so sorry it was that awful—“

“It wasn’t awful.” Artie blurts out, like he can’t believe anyone would ever actually think that. “It was _perfect_.”

Blaine blinks at him, and wonders if he’s high.

“Like little ringlets of curly perfection.” Sam nods in agreement, and Blaine wonders if maybe he’s high. What does the Lima Bean put in their lattes again…? “A little bit of stubble and you could be Kit Harrington’s twin. It’s uncanny.”

“Who’s Kit Harrington?” He asks, but Artie and Sam ignore him.

Its official: he’s entered the Twilight Zone. McKinley, Lima—it’s all nothing more than a dream. He’s officially lost his mind.

Artie leans across the table and grabs Blaine’s arm. “We need you to stop cutting your hair—“

“—and stop gelling it—“

“—and start growing it out a little—“

“—and maybe stop shaving just so we can try it out—“

“—so you can be our Jon Snow at this year’s ComicCon.” Artie finishes, a manic look in his eyes.

Blaine swallows a dry lump of biscotti and _stares_.

Sam doesn’t let that stop him for long. “See, I had a vision last night at the party when you were drunk and licking Joe’s abs—“

“A body shot,” Blaine corrects him, slightly horrified. “It was a _body shot_. I wasn’t just—randomly licking Teen Jesus’s abs—“

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” Artie shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Jesus’s abs are quite lickable.” He pats Sam and Blaine both on the arm. “Not as good as either of yours, though, but quite nice really.”

Blaine is _really_ not sober enough to be having this conversation.

Sam turns to Artie and frowns. “Dude, you really need to figure out if you are actually bisexual or if you just like saying this kind of stuff to mess with people, because I don’t know what that makes me if both my best bros are gay.”

Blaine takes another sip of his latte, and hopes he wakes up soon, because as far as dreams go this is really, really weird.

Artie smacks him. “First off, the term would be _bisexual_ because I still like girls. Secondly, labels are for squares and I refuse to label my sexuality as something just because society says I should. And thirdly, what would be wrong if both your best bros were gay, exactly? Are you secretly a homophobe, Sam Evans?”

“No!” Sam squeaks right as the barista brings his and Artie’s coffee, almost spilling it all over the table. “No! I have nothing against gay dudes! I love gay dudes! I am the Vice President for McKinley’s first gay President, that’s how much I support gay dudes!”

Blaine wonders what, exactly, he’d need to do to leave the planet right this very moment. Or at least the coffee shop.

“But, I don’t know. If both my best friends are gay doesn’t that make me look kinda gay?”

“Sam Evans, you were a _stripper_. Why are you caring so much what other people think of you?”

Blaine swallows the rest of his latte in a single gulp.

“I’m not! I mean, I don’t care if people think I’m gay ‘cause I hang out with gay guys, ‘cause I love you guys. I care if chicks think I’m gay because dude what if girls don’t like me because they think I’m having a gay threeseome with my two best bros?”

Blaine blinks. “Aren’t you dating Brittany?”

Sam shrugs. “It’s complicated, and also irrelevant. Are you willing to be our Jon Snow or not?”

Blaine stares at his empty latte cup like it might hold the answers to all of life’s greatest mysteries.

Well. It’s not like he’s doing anything else, anyway. And besides, he needs something to distract him and keep him from facebook stalking Kurt’s new boyfriend every couple of hours or so.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

“YES!” Sam cheers. He and Artie fist-bump.

“One question, though,” Blaine asks, once it seems like Sam and Artie are done celebrating. “Who is Jon Snow, exactly?”

 

* * *

 

Which leads directly into a Game of Thrones marathon at the Andersons’ house an hour later, as the boys try and settle in on the couch while Sam plugs in the blu ray.

“So it’s like _Lord of the Rings?_ ” Blaine asks, still slightly confused, even as Artie has been trying to summarize the plot of the series in the car ride home. “I like _Lord of the Rings.”_

Artie shakes his head. “That’s a common misconception. It’s less high-fantasy than any of Tolkien’s work. It’s darker and grittier. People die in _Game of Thrones.”_

Blaine frowns. “People die in _Lord of the Rings_.”

“Let me rephrase that: people other than Sean Bean die in _Game of Thrones,_ ” Artie grins. “Though he’s in this one, too. Think less elves and hobbits, more political intrigue and murder.”

Sam grins and jumps up from the floor, squishing himself in between the two boys. “Also dragons!”

“And incest.”

Blaine looks disturbed. “Incest?”

Sam wraps his arm around Blaine’s shoulder and squeezes. “Little bit.”

Artie coughs and mumbles. “Actually a lot.”

“--But also dragons, and boobs, and awesome sword fighting. You’ll like it, it’s good!” Sam pokes him in the stomach.

Blaine doesn’t actually think they’re going to let him have a choice in the matter, but it looks like he’s stuck here regardless, so he tries to enjoy it, if nothing else.

 

* * *

_The Bastard_

“So, that’s the guy you want me to cosplay?”

Sam nods like an eager, overexcited puppy. “Yep! That’s Jon Snow!”

If Blaine is being honest, he can see the resemblance. They share a similar jaw line, and a similar nose shape. If Blaine grew his hair out and could stand to let the curls fly free for a little while, he could see where he might be confused for the character, or at very least the actor who plays him.

But Jon Snow is… _pretty_ , in a way Blaine doesn’t really see himself. He’s unnaturally pretty, almost ethereal in his beauty, in the same way that Kurt is. It makes him uncomfortable, trying to compare himself to something that shares Kurt’s beauty. Blaine doesn’t know if he could play him, honestly.

“I think I’d rather just be Nightbird, if it’s all the same to you.”

Sam throws a pillow at his head. “Dude, no one knows who Nightbird IS!”

“That’s the beauty of it. I’ll be the only one. I bet there’s a hundred Jon Snows at ComicCon.” Blaine shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, because it really, really, doesn’t. “Besides, am I the only one who’s getting dressed up, or are you guys cosplaying too?”

“Of course we’re cosplaying! That’s why you’ve got to be Jon Snow!” Sam—doesn’t really whine so much as he pouts in Blaine’s general direction. “I’m going to be Jaime Lannister.”

Blaine scrunches his nose. “The guy who pushed baby Stark out the window? And is sleeping with his sister?”

Sam swishes his hair. “Blonde. _Duh_. Also, the dude is a total badass. And Artie’s is going to be Bran Stark.”

Artie frowns at him. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re not?” Sam frowns at him. “But who else are you going to cosplay as? Bran’s the only one who’s, you know…”

“Disabled?” Artie offers, torn between amusement and offence. Sam’s not _intentionally_ being ableist—most people aren’t—and so, he’s easy to forgive. “That doesn’t mean he’s the only character I can cosplay, Sam.”

“Right,” Sam says sheepishly, sinking down into the Andersons’ couch. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. You worry about your cosplay, I’ll worry about mine, okay?”

Blaine pouts. “Still rather be Nightbird, but okay.”

 

* * *

_The Cripple_

The thing is, Artie _envies_ Bran Stark.

Sure, being shoved out a window and breaking your legs would suck, especially in those days, without pain killers or physical therapy or the other marvels of modern medicine. It’d probably kill you, and if it didn’t kill you you’d be in pain all the time, and while Artie has to rely on others for assistance, it’s not for literally everything in his life. He has some independence, whereas Bran has none.

But Bran has something Artie doesn’t have: someone to blame.

Bran can blame the Lannisters. Bran can hate them. Every time he wants to walk, or run, or dance, or do something everyone else gets to do, he has someone he can fester his hatred towards.

Artie doesn’t. Artie’s accident was just that: an accident, and therefore no one’s fault.

No, Artie doesn’t want to cosplay Bran.

He envies him too much.

 

* * *

_The Princess_

Sometimes, Sam forgets Blaine is gay.

Blaine doesn’t let Sam forget he’s gay while they’re watching _Game of Thrones_.

“Why isn’t she wearing a bra?”

Sam stops and blinks. “Huh?”

“The blonde girl. The princess. Why isn’t she covered up at all?” Blaine asks seriously, pointing at the screen. “She’s meeting with these important people, and she’s just walking around practically naked.” He sounds almost angry. “Why doesn’t her brother say something, if nothing—“

“Just watch,” Artie hushes him. “You’ll see in a few.”

Blaine gets quiet, and Sam—

They’re friends now, of course, but the first time they met Blaine had shoved him and said _“I’m not for sale._ ” Sam remembers it because at the time, he had thought it was a jab against Sam personally, because of his previous profession. But now, he wonders if it wasn’t something else. Something Blaine doesn’t like talking about.

_“I’m not for sale.”_

Neither is Daenerys, though she doesn’t know it yet.

Sam thinks Blaine will like the show. For her, if nothing else.

 

* * *

_The Dwarf_

Maybe he could cosplay Tyrion?

He doesn’t exactly have the jaw for it, or the hair, but those are superficial things. With the chair he could pass for a dwarf, or at least dwarf-height. Hell, maybe they could even make his chair look like a throne! That would be cool, wouldn’t it?

Except, well, Artie’s not sure he could pull Tyrion off. Sure, he’s witty and cool and practically everyone’s favorite character, but it doesn’t feel right. It’s not Artie, really.

Not that you have to identify with a character in order to cosplay them. Sam is cosplaying as Jaime, and Artie is pretty sure they have absolutely nothing in common other than being blond.

He puts Tyrion on his list, but he keeps thinking.

 

* * *

 

_The Kingslayer_

Sam is going to ComicCon this year. He wanted to go last year but was too broke to buy tickets, and the year before that he was homeless, so, yeah. But this year he’s definitely going, because Burt and Carole paid for his ticket as a Christmas present. Now all he has to do is grown his hair out and finish his costume, and also get there.

He just wants his friends to be as excited about it as he is.

 

* * *

 

_Littlefinger_

They’re almost finished with the first season when it hits him: he knows what he’s going to cosplay as.

He’s going to be Littlefinger.

Blaine asks if that’s the eunuch, because he can’t keep most of the characters straight.

Sam raises an eyebrow carefully.

“You’d be a good Master of Coin,” Sam admits, after a few minutes of careful thought. “I’m not sure anyone else would get it, though.”

That’s okay with Artie: they don’t have to get it. He gets it, though, and that’s what matters.

He grins. “How long do you think it will take me to grow the beard?”

Sam pats him on the back. “Until July, definitely. Better stop shaving now, though, just in case.”

 

* * *

 

_The Dragon_

In truth, Blaine doesn’t mind cosplaying Jon Snow. He likes Jon Snow, now that he’s seen the first season. He relates to him more. He knows what it feels like, to feel like an unwanted child, a burden in his own home. He admires Jon’s courage, wishes he could be like him, strong enough to leave and never look back.

But, much as he likes Jon Snow, he really wishes he could cosplay Daenerys. He _loves_ Daenerys: she is his absolute favorite character on the show. She’s so strong, fearless in a way he understands and relates to. So many bad things keep happening in her life, but she keeps moving on. She messes up and screws up and makes bad decisions, but she keeps moving forward.

Sam teases him and says he has a crush, but that’s not exactly right. Blaine doesn’t want to make out with her so much as he wants to be her, if that makes any sense.

If Blaine were a braver man---

If Blaine were like Kurt, a hundred percent sure of himself and who is, unafraid of his own body and skin and what others might say if he were different—

He’d like to cosplay as Daenerys.

He’s thought about it before. He could get a blonde wig fairly easily, and some blue-colored contacts for his eyes. He’d have to do something with his eyebrows, but he’s not too upset over that. And as far as costuming goes, most of her outfits aren’t very complicated. He could---well, Kurt could---easily adjust them into a male version without many problems.

But. Well.

Artie and Sam are good guys, but he’s not sure they’d get it. They’d just see it as him dressing in drag, or trying to be a girl. They wouldn’t understand. At best, they’d think he was like Unique, trapped in the wrong body when that’s really, really not the case here.

Kurt would understand. Kurt would get it.

But.

Kurt’s not really that involved in his life anymore, is he?

So Blaine tucks away his fantasies into the dark recesses of his mind, where they can be safe, and focuses instead on how he can be the best Jon Snow he can be.

Because it’s (safer better easier) that way.

 

* * *

**  
**  


**-**

**Part Two: Assembling the Pieces**

For Blaine’s birthday, he gets a white wolf plushie from Brittany that reminds him of Margret Thatcher Dog and makes him want to vomit inside, but because he’s Blaine he just says thank you and keeps it to use for part of his cosplay.

For Sam’s birthday, his friends all chip in and buy him a sword.

(It’s not Oathkeeper---it’s actually an old, used _Lord of the Rings_ replica, but it’s a sword, and it’ll work. Sam doesn’t particularly care that it’s got elvish written on the side of the blade, because elvish is cool and the sword is mostly going to be carried around in its sheath, anyway.)

For Artie’s late May birthday, he gets a gift certificate for a free haircut and a card signed by the New Directions begging him to please shave off the unholy abomination growing on his face: they’re afraid it might have grown into its own intelligent life form and start trying to eat them any day now.

Artie strokes his beard (which isn’t that long, is mostly just fuzzy and multicolored, which freaks their friends out) and laughs.

 

* * *

 

Blaine gels and straightens his hair every single day.

Yes, even as it starts to get long.

Sam, who is also growing his hair out, thinks he’s crazy. “You look like you have a mullet.”

Blaine glares at him, and then hairsprays his head just in case. “My hair is baby-fine. A single spark of static electricity makes the curls go crazy. I’m not walking around school looking like a clown, thanks.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Can you not---I dunno, do a mix of the two? Like, use a little bit of hair gel so it’s not static-y, but not so much that you like an 80’s porn star? ‘Cause right now you look kind of creepy, dude. No offense.”

This is sort of the strangest conversation Blaine’s ever had in his life, including that time Sam and Artie asked him to cosplay in the first place.

He blushes slightly. “I don’t—I don’t know how.”

Sam looks confused for a moment, and silent even as the halls of McKinley buzz around them.

He snaps his fingers suddenly. “I have an idea.”

 

* * *

 

It’s not until Glee practice that Blaine figures out Sam’s idea.

All of the New Directions are standing together, waiting for Blaine to walk in.

“…Um, guys?”

Artie wheels forward. “This is an intervention.”

Kitty folds her arms. “You look like a pedophile.”

Brittany nods. “I don’t know what that means, but you smell so much like raspberries now that it kind of makes me nauseous.”

Joe snaps his fingers suddenly, like he has an idea. “I could dread it, maybe? He could have little mini-dreads.”

“You should just let him cut his hair.” Tina snaps. “Then he wouldn’t have the mullet thing or the curls, and life would be back to normal.”

“If we’re having an intervention, can we make Artie shave his beard as well?” Ryder asks politely. “Because I’m not going to lie, that’s freaking me out a bit.”

Artie not-so-accidentally wheels over Ryder’s toes. “The beard stays. It is not up for discussion.”

“All three of you look like hobos. It’s _disgusting_.” Kitty sneers, stepping away from Sam. “I don’t understand why you want to dress up like a Renaissance fair anyway.”

“It’s ComicCon,” Jake intervenes. “I understand completely.” He stops for a moment. “The hair definitely has to go though, sorry.”

Sugar pulls out her wallet and throws it at Blaine. “I’ll pay for you to change it!”

“Ladies and gentlemen, _please_ ,” Unique flips her hair stunningly before walking towards Blaine, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. “Unique will handle this makeover from here.”

“Makeover?” Blaine spits out. “What makeover? There’s no need for a makeover. I _like_ how I look.”

“Just the hair, sweetie.” Unique whistles, and Marley follows behind like an adorable, loyal puppy. “Your bowties are strange but charming, and you dress like a Brooks Brothers model. We aren’t going to change your clothes because there’s not any need.”

“Have you tried wearing hats?” Marley offers, taking off her own Newsies-style cap to place on Blaine’s head. “That’s what I do.”

Blaine winces, and wonders—not for the first time—just what exactly he’s letting himself get dragged into.

 

* * *

 

It takes three days, eight fashion magazines, seventy-five different hair care products, and one super secret phone call from Unique to Kurt that leads to in-depth fashion research and a brand new article on vogue.com on “The Secrets to Curly Hair” written by one K. E. Hummel, intern, but by the end of it, everyone agrees it was worth it.

Blaine’s curls are long and soft, luscious but not frizzy, controlled but not greasy or ridiculous.

He looks like a finely-sculpted teenaged Greek god as he walks down the halls of William McKinley High.

Unique and Marley high-five.

The girls (and a surprising number of guys) of McKinley swoon.

Kurt likes the new profile picture on facebook, but doesn’t reach out beyond that.

Artie and Sam fist-bump, and think that they are going to have the best cosplay at ComicCon ever.

 

* * *

  
-

**Part Three: Getting There**

Finally, it’s like, _June_ , and ComicCon is almost here, and Sam is so, so excited.

Their costumes are almost perfect, and they have their badges, and everything seems to be falling into place when Blaine, ever the practical one, points out the one thing Sam has overlooked.

“Uh, Sam?” He asks, one afternoon just as July is beginning to swelter around them. “How are we getting to California, exactly?”

Sam stares at him blankly. “Oh crap.”

 

* * *

 

They can’t fly. This late in the game, tickets to San Diego are outrageously expensive, especially in the heat of summer. That, and Sam’s not entirely sure they’d let him take his sword Tirol (Na’vi for _song_ , which Sam thought was appropriate, considering Glee sort of paid for it) with him on the plane.

“We could drive?” He offers, because that seems like the most logical answer at this point. “We could take my truck?”

His truck, which only still barely works now, only because his Ohio Host-Foster-Dad-Person-He-Lives-With Burt runs a tire shop and knows how to make vehicles live long past the time they ought to have died.

Artie and Blaine are, naturally, a bit skeptical.

“I’d offer my car,” Artie offers sadly, and pats his legs. “But, well. Can’t drive.”

Blaine scowls a bit. “…I don’t have a car.”

Sam blinks at him. “Don’t you drive a station wagon to school every day?”

“That’s my mom’s car.” Blaine blushes slightly, looking down at his feet. “My car is a ’56 Chevy that my Dad and I were supposed to rebuild that just…never happened. And then I’m moving to New York in the fall, so there’s really no need for one.” He shrugs like its no big deal, but he doesn’t look up to meet the other boys’ eyes. “I could ask my mom if we could take her car to California, though?”

Sam has been friends with Blaine for the past year, and has met Mrs. Anderson a total of once. He suspects the answer to that question would be a resounding _no_ , though he doesn’t know that for sure.

He shakes his head anyway. “Guys, it’s cool! We can just take my truck! We can fit all of our stuff in the back, Blaine and I can lift Artie in and out of his chair, we’ll buy a bunch of snacks and take turns sleeping! We’ll get there in no time! It’ll be fun!”

His friends do not look convinced.

“Come on,” Sam says inspirationally. “Look at what we’ve overcome so far! Artie, you’ve grown an amazing beard just for this!”

Artie nods sagely. “My beard is amazing, that’s true.”

“--And Blaine, you’ve let your hair become wild and loose and free, all just so you can be Jon Snow!”

Blaine blushes a little, but he does swish his long, luscious curls just a bit, enjoying the way they fall free across his face.

“Are we _really_ going to let something like a lack of reliable transportation stop us from going to ComicCon?”

Blaine and Artie stop and share a look.

“To be honest,” Artie says finally, stroking his beard. “I just don’t want to die stranded on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere because your truck broke down again. No offense.”

“Aw, come on!” Sam laughs, and punches Artie playfully in the arm. “My truck is totally reliable!”

 

* * *

 

Sam’s truck is totally not reliable.

They make it as far as Texas, almost half-way to their destination, almost eighteen hours in and during what is supposed to be Blaine’s Scheduled Nap Time according to the optimized road trip plan Artie made out. They are crammed together in the front seat of Sam’s truck like sardines, with Artie squished in the middle to make it easier for Sam and Blaine to switch out who is driving. It’s fun for the first several hours—Sam’s radio is the one thing that most definitely does work, so they take turns singing their favorite songs as loudly as they can, with the windows rolled down and the wind in their hair, California dreams awaiting them.

It gets old fast, though. Thirty-two hours is a long time to spend in the car, especially since they don’t plan to stop for the night, preferring instead to save their money for San Diego.

Then Sam’s truck dies in the middle of I-40 West, an hour outside of New Mexico.

It’s three am. There’s not another car or sign of life for miles.

Sam prays. Sam prays _hard_.

Blaine wakes up slowly, the sudden stop of movement jolting him from his slumber. “Wzzt? Why’d we stop?”

In between them, Artie continues to snore.

“We didn’t stop!” Sam whispers—whines as he tries to start his useless truck. “We’re just---stalled.”

Blaine blinks the crust of sleep from his eyes. “The truck won’t start?”

Sam turns the key in the ignition, and the truck sputters but doesn’t start.

Sam’s first instinct is to burst out into tears—he’s so, so close, half-way to San Diego, and he has a costume and a sword and a party, but none of that matters because now he’s not going to be able to go after all, all because of his _stupid_ truck.

Blaine’s first instinct is to call Kurt. Kurt, who is in New York, but who grew up around cars and knows his way around these things. He could probably figure out what the problem was, and maybe even fix it easily enough, but probably wouldn’t appreciate the three am phone call just because his dumbass ex-boyfriend is stranded in Texas.

Artie’s first instinct, blinking wearily awake, is to wonder why the truck is empty, and why Sam and Blaine are trying to push it off the highway and into the way of incoming traffic at three am.

He leans his head out the window. “Do you want me to steer?”

“That’d be great, Artie!” Sam yells back, heaving as the truck moves at a snail’s pace.

Artie grabs the wheel and turns it, so at least when they push it now it will head off the road, hopefully.

 

* * *

 

They are not entirely helpless.

Sure, they are in the desert, and it’s dark and cold out at three am, and they honestly sort of look like hobos right now, in their jeans and t-shirts, beards and long hair. Nobody’s probably going to want to stop and help them.

But. Sam _has_ worked a bit in Burt’s shop these past two years, and Blaine _did_ rebuild an entire car with his dad once.

That, and they have Artie on the iPad, furiously googling “why won’t the truck start???” and looking for answers there.

They can do this.

 

* * *

 

Three hours later, Blaine punches Sam in the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“I can’t believe you let your battery die!” Blaine yells, hot and annoyed. “If that kind old woman hadn’t stopped by and let us jump the truck, we’d still be stranded!”

“Not my fault!” Sam laughs, and then grins. “Come on, we’ve got to make up for lost time on the road! California awaits!”

 

* * *

 

This is their plan:

Hotels in San Diego are ridiculously expensive, but luckily for them Blaine has a brother who lives in Los Angeles who has graciously offered them the floor of his apartment to sleep on. It’s a two hour drive from Los Angeles to San Diego, but Artie has crunched the numbers and they’ll actually spend less driving every day from Los Angeles to San Diego than they would on a hotel.

So they’re going to crash at Cooper’s, drive to San Diego, enjoy ComicCon, drive back to Cooper’s, sleep, and the do it all over again for the next four days.

Again, Blaine wonders when exactly he signed up for this, but at the same time he can’t help but admit that he’s sort of excited about it.

I mean, it’s ComicCon, and he looks like Jon Snow.

What’s _not_ to love?

 

* * *

 

Cooper. Cooper is what’s not to love.

“You look like a hobo,” Cooper says by way of hello, opening his front door to let them in. “I almost locked my door instead of letting you in.”

Blaine scowls, but moves in to hug his big brother regardless. “Hello, Cooper. Thank you for letting us stay with you.”

“You smell like a truck stop,” Cooper complains, opening his door wider so Sam can wheel Artie in. “I don’t understand. Is that part of your nerd costume gathering or something? See who can smell the worst?”

Blaine throws his bag at his brother. “I haven’t showered or slept in a real bed in thirty-eight hours, Cooper.”

“Well then, please, help yourself,” He smiles charmingly at Sam and Artie. “Hello boys. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to sign an autograph for you both before you leave. Welcome to Casa de Anderson!”

Blaine rolls his eyes even as Sam and Artie look about Cooper’s tiny LA apartment, apparently star-struck. “I call first shower!”

“Good! You go do that, while I show these two gentlemen the place, and then maybe order us a pizza because I’m not sure I want to be seen in public with you.”

Blaine sticks his tongue out.

 

* * *

 

It’s late in the evening, and Los Angeles is buzzing around them. They’re in their PJs, having scarfed down three pizzas and are “watching” an awful horror movie, in which Cooper played a dead body. Cooper’s dramatic scene is already over, thankfully, and so they’ve only had to listen to thirty more minutes of colorful “advice” afterwards, and are hopefully moving on to better things.

“So what is this nerd-con thing, anyway? Why do you all need to dress up like hobos?”

Which makes Sam indignant, insisting that they need to show Cooper exactly how awesome their costumes are, so he’ll stop making fun of them, if nothing else.

To their surprise, Cooper recognizes them as soon as their in costume.

“Oh, you’re dressing up as characters from _Game of Thrones_. Why didn’t you just say so?” He says nonchalantly. “I auditioned for the role of the bastard prince—“

_“Jon Snow.”_ Blaine deadpans, eying his brother skeptically. “You auditioned for _Jon Snow_. The one I’m dressed as?”

“—But they didn’t give me the part. Alas, I assume they were just prejudice against brunettes!”

Of course, then Sam and Artie have to hear all about the _Game of Thrones_ audition process, and did Cooper meet Kit Harrington, or George R. R. Martin, and what was it _like?_

Blaine feels like slamming his head against the walls of Cooper's apartment.

 

* * *

 

It's an hour or so later when Cooper gets another bright idea.

“Hey, why don't I go with you guys?” He offers, with a pearly-white grin.

Sam, Artie, and Blaine share a Look.

Blaine's look seems to say _please, God, anything but that!_

Artie's look seems to say _do you think if I asked really nicely and said it was my birthday I could convince Cooper and Blaine to make out in front of me?_

Sam bites his lower lip, and thinks. “I don't think you could get in, Cooper. Tickets are usually already sold out.” He points at Cooper, because he remembers something from those Master Class acting lessons. “Besides, you don't have a costume.”

Cooper snaps his fingers. “Hang on just a second!”

He rushes back to his bedroom, fumbles around a bit, and comes back wearing a dark cloak similar to the one Blaine is wearing. “Ta-da!”

Blaine rubs his forehead. “Where did you get that?”

“I got it _years_ ago for an audition. Someone told me once that dressing like the character for the audition will help you get the job. I don't know if that's true or not, but, well, I kept the cloak.” Cooper grins, throwing his arms proudly. “So? Can I go to your nerd-con or what?”

“Who are you supposed to be, though?” Blaine glares while Cooper shrugs.

“Jon Snow, I guess.”

_“I'm_ Jon Snow.”

Cooper runs his hand through Blaine's hair. “Then I guess I'm Jon Snow's older brother or something.”

Sam's eyes get ridiculously large. _“Robb Stark!_ You can be Robb Stark!”

Okay, Blaine cannot help but grin at that. Cooper is the _last_ person in the world who should be Robb Stark, but the comparison makes Blaine giggle.

Cooper shrugs. “Yeah, okay. I'll be that guy.”

 

* * *

**  
-**  


**Part Four: The Part Where They Actually Go To ComicCon**

They make it there, finally.

It takes them about _five_ hours to drive from Los Angeles to San Diego because they severally underestimated how long you sit in traffic in California, but at least Cooper offers them his car and so they have a little more leg room.

And ComicCon itself is _glorious_. People are everywhere, and everyone is a nerd, and there are people in costumes and photos to take and it's just _awesome_.

Sam is like a kid in a candy shop, hoping about from place to place, just trying to soak it all in at once. He wants to stay here forever and ever, and just never leave.

Artie and Blaine have a blast as well, of course. Blaine stalks the cast of _Sing!_ and hops about when he hears spoilers, and squeals like a little girl when he gets Clea Rachele's autograph. Artie would tease him a bit—but he does the same thing for the new Star Trek movie, so he's not judging.

Cooper doesn't get to go with them the first day.

(He does, however, manage to snag a badge for day two, though. And he spends the day stalking potential show creators and/or casting directors, ready and willing to show off his talents at a moment's notice.)

 

* * *

 

Their cosplays are a hit, of course.

Sam takes a group picture with seven other Jaime Lannisters, in which his grin is the widest and the cheesiest.

No one gets Artie's costume, though he does get several fist bumps for thinking outside of the box, which is kind of nice.

Someone takes a picture of Blaine and Cooper together, where Blaine is sulking and Cooper has a wide smile, and it ends up on the official _Game of Thrones_ facebook page with the comment “Robb and Jon having a good time at ComicCon!”

Blaine's costume is the most popular, though. He gets mistaken for Kit Harrington no less than eight times. One girl even steals a lock of his hair, she's so convinced he's the actual actor.

They have a _blast_.

And for the first time in months—dressed up in silly costumes, on opposite ends of the country—Blaine doesn't miss Kurt at all.

 

* * *

 

**END**

**Blaine:**  
 ****

**Sam:**  
 ****

**Artie:**  
 ****

**Cooper:**  
[ ](http://jakia.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/484/9492)


End file.
